


Farmacologico

by GlassNoRouyaDeUnazuku



Series: Regno di Ghiaccio - A Tenipuri mafia story [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: AU, Doctor - Freeform, Gen, Mobsters, Serious AU, mafia, no romantic relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassNoRouyaDeUnazuku/pseuds/GlassNoRouyaDeUnazuku
Summary: The psychiatric doctor, Fuji Syusuke has an interview with a local San Francisco Newspaper.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another one shot for the Tenipuri Mafia Au, this time focused on Doctor Fuji.

**Farmacologico**

Fill the bone places with rods; pull the skin back in place, rough stitching. Syusuke regretted his psychiatry doctorate still made him have to close up donation bodies. He put the three bones and the usable organs on their legitimate recipients, passing them to the other hospital doctor’s teams. Even with all the accomplishments on his career he still needed to help on this petty works because if the amount of bodies they had been receiving on past years. Mostly dead by gunshots, explosions or stabbing.  At least all the organized crime in town made them receive a great amount of possible donors, many were indigents without a family so 3 days after death they were reassigned to donation. On the past years organ donation finally turned into a common reality on the good hospitals on the USA and it would only improve with this amount of bodies being used for it.

Syusuke washed his hands and switched his clothes after leaving the room, he had an interview with a local newspaper after lunch and he did not want to waste any time he could be using to have fun with some police officers. He smiled to himself, picking up a clean lab coat and putting a plastic scalpel on his right pocket. It was just so much fun seeing others stare at it like it was a real one, no one had the courage to bother him about the lack of asepsis it was to carry a medical tool like that. Not the captain of the S.F. Police Department and not even the General Supervisor.

He walked out of the morgue, making a straight line to his usual lunch restaurant. He always had his meals there, where he could observe and play a bit with the police officers that were having their break at the same time as he was. Doctor Fuji had his favorite targets, the ones that were easier to scare and always gave the best reactions. And it seemed today was his lucky day his two favorites were sitting together in a nearby table.

Kikumaru Eiji was eating his Broiled Cheese Sandwich while chatting happily with a not so interested Takeshi Kawamura, whose thoughts seemed to be too far from his talkative companion. Fuji enjoyed toying with them a lot.

Eiji was always eager to believe in everything he said without question, the red haired boy was just so gullible, Fuji asked himself how the police admitted someone like him, they should really be lacking personnel. Or the vague suspicions people had around the office of the Kikumaru boy being bought by the mafia were true. Just how much he had to push to make that redheaded policemen show his darkest secrets.

Kawamura was a completely different case. The doctor knew that one was a good officer. Always doing his job, going deep into every investigation, trying his best to do everything correctly. And that one suspected him. Fuji knew how Kawamura suspected him, and his suspicions were more than basic fear like everyone else around the office, that man’s suspicions were also rational ones. He had so much fun in toying with those suspicions.

“Good Afternoon, officers, you mind if I join in? I am interested in relishing such an extraordinary company. Mr. Kikumaru, are you feeling well? You seem a bit feverish.” Fuji spoke with his casual smile.

“Anh… Doctor Fuji, you know I was already finishing my lunch and going back to the office.” Eiji answered, clearly trying not to show how much his hands were shaking while he took his plate and went out of the table quickly to check the fever, that now, he believed he had.

Kawamura did not answer him promptly; the officer seemed to be too busy examining his behaviour for some seconds.

“Apologies, doctor but I also have to return for my work.” The officer finally answered, also getting up from the table. He hid it better, but the doctor could see the light shaking on his hands and feet.

Syusuke had some fava bean soup, while mentally preparing some in prompt answers to the journalist that would interview him. Probably for another mafia boss profile, in which he would just blabber some psychiatric bullshit. It was so difficult for commoners to understand how psychiatry worked, they had this need of putting murderers and robbers in a separate group, like their brain operated differently than anyone else’s. What was not true. The only thing he would agree is that the Mafia bosses were, surely, way smarter than the general public.

Fuji walks back to his office, the walls filled with bookcases, the home of his precious cacti caring books. Besides it was his balcony, the only place in the building where there was perfect sun for harvesting for his beautiful plants. He had to suggest some not very nice things to the supervising doctor to acquire this office, but it was worth it for his cacti.

The reporter was late. Fuji considered not answering him anymore; he hated lateness, almost the same amount that he hated rudeness. But when a tiny young man, entered on his office, tripping over his own feet, the doctor couldn’t be happier to play with such a nice specimen.

The man that entered could not be older than 23, he would look younger if it wasn’t the heavy eye bags, probably from late night reporting, but his face still conserved a lot of his late teen years; his smile and his non-tanned skin showed the doctor he couldn’t be from the area. The introduction came quick after the short reporter was able to stand on his feet again.

“Oh I’m sorry! And… Hello doctor! I am so glad to meet you, my name is Dan Taichi! I was really looking forward to this…” The young reporter started speaking, too loud and too much for Fuji’s liking and he just stopped paying attention in what the newcomer was saying mid-sentence. His mind was already working on ways to scare the young reporter to amuse himself during the interview.

“So, Mr. Dan, should we start the interview?” Fuji said, interrupting the young men in the middle of a story about how he had moved to San Francisco.

“Oh, yes, sure, sorry again. Sometimes I lose myself in the middle of talking. Your office is really nice, doctor! It must be difficult to have such a big office with a large balcony on this area of the city. Oh, that proves how much of an amazing psychiatrist you are, you have this cool office and the police consult with you, even!” Dan’s rambling continued while he moved to sit on the chair Syusuke showed him. The reporter took a minute before he decided to finally ask the first question, one that the doctor was not prepared for.

“So, do you cook well, doctor?” Fuji blinked twice; he was expecting anything but questions about his day to day life details. Shouldn’t this be another boring interview about the media after mobsters?

“I cook sometimes. But is this relevant?” His answer came after a pause; he did not want to sound discourteous to the younger man.

“Oh, it’s because I was checking on the newspaper and there were already lots of interviews with you talking about the mob, and how are their profiles so I thought the readers would be interested in getting a feel for psychiatry as a profession and how it is your daily life outside. So, which type of food do you like?” Dan asked with a bright smile, while wrote down everything Fuji had said.

The doctor still could work with that, would be fun to see how long the boy’s smile would remain on his face during the interview. “I like spicy food, normally seasoned by the tears of those that bother me.” Fuji said without changing his pleasant smile waiting for the disgust that would appear on the reporter’s eyes.

No disgust appeared. Dan’s eyes widened even more and he seemed so much more impressed with the doctor. “Oh my god, using tears as season? Is this common here? Are they very spicy in the end? You must be such a good cook if you know such deluxe ingredients! I see lots of cacti in your office why do you enjoy such an unusual type of plant?”

Syusuke was taken aback by the boy eagerness; there was no fear, no disgust, just those impressed eyes looking at him, seeming really interested in whatever he had to say. A pleasant feeling started growing on his stomach; it was the first time he met someone that was not scared at his playful half jokes at all. “I like the cacti because they can withstand the most inhospitable weathers and still are able to hurt those that get too close to their thorns.” Fuji answered, staring directly into Dan’s eyes, looking if a glimmer of fear would ever pass through them. But the boy was pure. He only showed admiration and excitement. And those lasted until the end of the interview.

After the reporter left Fuji touched the cactus that was over his table.  “I have met someone interesting today, dear friend, will be nice to see how much I can do until he gets completely terrified with me.”

The work day ended later than expected,  the police reaching him for consultation until very late hours. After 9 pm Fuji returned to his home, a 3 floor chateau in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in San Francisco, his brother was already asleep when he entered and left his coat with one of the maids on the entrance.

He went up to his room, took a quick shower and got ready to sleep, he wanted to be able to bother Kawamura-san in the morning of the next day. Fuji laid his head on the pillow, his brain telling him he had forgotten something. He rolled around on the bed a bit trying to remember. He did not remember about the poor fellow he may have trapped on his basement that was still suffering from all the medications the doctor may have given him to stop his screams.


End file.
